


like a bell through the night

by crackthesky



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, F/M, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, hints of overstimulation, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackthesky/pseuds/crackthesky
Summary: the chime of your charms comes from the sway of your hips.Geralt has a tendency to make them ring out for hours.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 208





	like a bell through the night

Geralt is bathed in light.

The autumn sun creeps golden through your window, gilds him into something that edges dangerously close to divine. You had almost forgotten the spell of him. The bathwater - still wisping steam, the moisture beading over his sooty lashes like morning dew - swirls around his lazily drifting hand. 

He does not stir at the sound of you. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps his head tilted back, the line of his thick neck begging for the press of your teeth. 

“You’d best have hauled more water for a bath if you’ve used all of mine, Geralt,” you say, shifting the basket on your hip as you come through the door. 

He cracks an eye open, the amber of his eyes made richer by the sun’s fading kiss. 

“Well?” you ask, skirting around the bath to set the basket of radishes on the kitchen table, cursing quietly as the wicker catches at the amulets strung around your hips. You can feel his gaze heavy on your back. 

He makes a low, deep noise, and the water sloshes as he shifts. You think of the way the water is likely spilling over the expanse of his broad chest, the droplets skating across his skin, and breathe through your nose.

“I didn’t.”

“Geralt,” you say. “I wanted a bath.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to share, then.”

You glance back over your shoulder. Geralt’s eyes flick to your lips, and you nibble at them without thinking, scrape your teeth over the fullness of your lower lip. He shifts, the water dipping low on his torso, baring more wet, gleaming skin before rising again. 

“Geralt.”

Your name spills huskily from his lips. In the rich haze of sunlight, he is edged with fire, and like a moth, you are drawn to him. You circle closer to the bath, taking your time despite the pull of him, the corner of your lips curling up as he grunts, annoyed by your dalliance. His hand flexes on the water’s surface as he waits. Geralt has always let you come to him on your own terms. 

You circle a few more times, watching the way the tendons in his jaw flex, unable to hide your mirth even in the face of his baleful look. Geralt’s gaze grows heavier, until it is as if his fingers are trailing across your skin instead of his eyes, and you relent.

As soon as you are close, he laces his blunt, wet fingers through the delicate chain that hangs low on your hips. The intricate trinkets spaced along the chain sway; they chime against each other like slow, sweet bells. 

“You’ve found some new ornaments, little magpie,” Geralt says. 

“A few,” you agree. You trace your finger over the ridge of his knuckles. 

He tightens his grip on the chain; uses it to tug you closer. You breathe a laugh and he ghosts a kiss against your thigh. Your chest tightens at the feel of it, at the slow spread of heat that unwinds in your core from the press of him. Water soaks through the material of your skirts, leaves an imprint in the shape of his lips.

Geralt sets his mouth against the curve of your hip, and this time, you can feel the prick of his teeth even through your clothes. The breath that leaves you is hushed and syrupy with want. The next kiss is lower, presses heavy against your cunt through your skirts.

“Bold,” you tell him.

“Hardly,” he rumbles, gazing up at you with those golden eyes. You can feel his breath against you, feel the heat of his mouth just shy of your cunt. “Come here.”

One of his large hands slides up to cup your jaw. He pulls you down to him and drinks from your lips, his fingers tightening against your skin. His other hand stays wound in your chain; he uses it to guide you closer still, until your hip is pressed against the warm metal of the bath basin. 

You had almost forgotten how overwhelming Geralt can be. He kisses like a maelstrom. He steals your breath away, teases it out of you with his tongue. He swallows down your moan and pulls another one from the depths of you as his hand slides from your jaw to your chest. He sweeps a calloused thumb over the edge of your nipple, just peeking over the frothy lace lining the low neckline of your bodice. Heat trickles down your spine. Geralt glides his hand under your bodice to palm your breast roughly, cupping the weight of it as best he can under the taut material of your clothing. 

Steam is still rising from the bathwater; it swirls thinly between the two of you, like morning fog burning off in the fever of your desire. Geralt pulls back, dragging his teeth against your bottom lip. He does not go far. “Undress,” he breathes against your lips. He’s already pulling at the ties of your bodice, rucking the garment up as it loosens. 

“Impatient,” you say, the word lined with laughter. 

Geralt ignores you, leaning up to suck at the skin he’s revealing, his mouth steadily trailing up until he nips at your breast. The prick of his teeth melts into you, slides under your skin to stoke the lazy warmth coiling low. 

When you shift back, he lets you, but you can feel his knuckles against the curve of your hip, his fingers still entwined in the chain. He keeps his grasp until you shrug your bodice off. 

“Leave it on,” he growls as you start to work at the fastening for your charms chain. 

Your lips curve into something teasing. Geralt grunts, but doesn’t take the bait. He beckons you back to him, tempts you with the flicker of his tongue over his red, wet lips. 

Your bodice is puddled at your feet, and you step over it carelessly to lean back down to Geralt. 

His fingers are rough as he tugs at your skirts.You press a biting kiss against his throat; he turns into your mouth, tries to catch it with his own, but you dart away with a little laugh. He growls, low and throaty, his amber eyes burning as you dance back, just out of his reach. Your charms tinkle as they sway, the sound like rain pattering against the roof. 

“These are my good skirts,” you tell him. The ties are finicky little things, more decoration than practicality, braided fabric that catches on itself. It takes time to undo them. From the curse that falls from Geralt’s lips, he knows that you are picking at the knots more slowly than usual. The autumn sun is warm against your bare skin, and you take a moment to bathe in it as your skirts slip down your legs like silk to settle against the floor. 

“Come here,” Geralt says again, his voice like thunder, deep and thick. The grit of it goes straight to your cunt. 

And you do as he says, stepping over the high edge of the bath basin. Geralt steadies you, his large hands cupping your ass, squeezing and kneading as he pulls you closer, keeps you standing. There’s something close to reverence tucked into the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you. You twine your fingers through his hair, dampened to the silver of the moon, and the sun of his gaze leaves you as he leans forward, his fingers tightening against the plush flesh of your ass.

Geralt scrapes his teeth high on your inner thigh, and you curse, the graze of pain curling into pleasure. His lips curve against your skin. He slides a hand between your thighs and cups your cunt, the heat of his palm pressing up against your wetness, and his thumb slips between your folds to roll against your clit. 

The pleasure blazes into a tempest so quickly that it almost hurts. You grind down on Geralt’s hand, search for more, but the angle is difficult. His touch is light. It’s just enough to keep your hips moving, but not enough for your hunger. You grasp Geralt’s wrist and use the leverage to press his hand harder against your cunt.

“You’re dripping,” Geralt hums, setting his teeth in your hip as he circles your clit with his thumb. The pleasure crackles up your spine, sears through you. You cuss as he trails the tip of a finger over your entrance, just barely dipping inside. Even that stretches you. You push back against him. “Greedy thing.” 

“It’s part of my charm,” you breathe.

Geralt slides a finger inside you, and the rest of your retort is lost as the moan spills from your lips. He nudges at you, makes you spread your legs a little bit wider, and then dips his head so that he can get his mouth on you. He licks at you as he begins to work his finger, stretching you out as you clench around him. Your voice breaks on his name when he nips carefully at your clit before sealing his lips around it, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks.

He tightens his grip on your ass, uses it to brace you as your knees quiver, pushes you farther onto his mouth as you clutch at the edges of the bath basin. The charms chime as you buck, the sound clear and sweet. Geralt crooks his finger and you tighten, the muscles in your thighs trembling as he consumes you, swallows down all you have to offer. 

He pulls back as you hiss out a moan, heat crackling in your belly. His lips are swollen crimson, and they are slick with you, the afternoon sun catching on the shine. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, and Geralt sinks another finger into you. He thrusts immediately, stretches you wide around his fingers, curving them just right to make you gasp. “Geralt!”

His lips curve into a pleased little smirk, and he lowers you until you’ve settled in his lap, the water sloshing with the movement. 

The water folds around you, cradles you with warmth, but Geralt envelops you even more, surrounds you with his presence. His hard cock nudges against your inner thigh. You undulate against him, just enough to brush him against your cunt, the head of his cock catching on your folds. The drag of his fingers against your walls jolts through you. 

He grunts and catches you by the hip. His hand is iron on you, holding you down on his lap, winding into the chain once more. You try to roll again, just to see, and Geralt’s fingers tighten. He keeps you still with ease. Pouting, you reach down to wrap a hand around his cock, squeezing softly before stroking up the thick length of him. 

Geralt groans, his voice scraping like stones. You press forward and take his nipple into your mouth as you stroke, twisting your hand as you reach the head. There’s a smug little curve to your lips as he moans. You graze your teeth against the tight peak of his nipple. 

Geralt adds a third finger, and you keen against his chest, panting at the fullness. The way he opens you is overwhelming, radiates up your spine and into your fingertips. Even with pleasure melting through you, you keep stroking. You can feel his brawny thighs tensing beneath you. Geralt grunts, but you keep going, let the weight of him fill your hand. You know what it is to have his cock split you open, but it has been some time since you’ve had him, and memory is no comparison. 

“Enough,” Geralt says, his breath catching in that way it does as he nears orgasm. 

You flutter your eyelashes at him, but your grin is wild and challenging. You slide your hand up the throbbing length of him. 

Geralt grunts and pulls your hand away. You whine as his fingers leave you, your cunt fluttering against the emptiness. He snares both of your wrists and holds them in place at the small of your back. It only takes one hand, his broad fingers spanning your wrists. He pulls the chain around your waist tighter against your skin, loops the loose ends around your wrists, and twists them closed, pinning your hands in place.

You test the bonds more out of habit than anything else; the charms above the water ring out.

“Good?” he murmurs against your ear, his teeth worrying the lobe. 

“More than,” you breathe. You rock against him. His cock is nestled between your thighs, thick and pulsing, and you think that you’ve never known want like this. “Geralt.”

He returns to your mouth, kisses you slow and dirty, his tongue pushing between your lips to map you out. His hand is tight in your hair; when he tugs, you can’t help the sound that spills from you. 

Geralt’s hand slips between your thighs again. He doesn’t ease into it this time, slides three wide fingers into your cunt until you’re gasping, your hands flexing against the small of your back, the sweet chime of the charms filling the room as you buck. 

He curves his fingers as he thrusts, hitting your sweet spot with the type of precision that might be unnerving if it didn’t feel so good, if it didn’t streak up your spine like lightning. 

You can feel the heat swelling, the coil growing taut, low in your belly. Geralt senses it too. He pulls his fingers from you. He swipes his thumb over your clit as he withdraws; your hips jerk, chasing the ghost of his touch. Geralt keeps you in place with a single hand.

“Geralt,” you start to say, but he leans forward and kisses the complaint right out of you. 

You open to him, meet him with teeth and wild hunger. You can feel him shifting between your thighs, the head of his cock sliding against your clit until you’re panting into his mouth. You twist your hips. Geralt pins you in place, pressing inside of you. You pull away from his mouth and set your teeth against his collarbone. Your cunt spreads around him, pulls him in, the thick head of his cock splitting you wide. He’s heavy in you. His cock drags against your walls, makes you see sparks.

He gives you a moment, only presses forward when you wiggle your hips against him. You ache to take him all into you. Still, you know that trying to rush him will likely slow him instead, contrary Witcher that he can be. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you whine, and his fingers tighten, press indents into your hips, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“When will you stop being surprised by that?” he murmurs, a hint of smug laughter lining his voice. He shifts under you, pulls you closer against him, sending the water rushing around you, and you hiss as he pushes just a bit deeper in you, stretches you just a bit more. The charms ring out as you tug at your bonds.

“When you stop being so pleased about it.”

“I’ll always be pleased to watch you take my cock,” Geralt says, and he thrusts up into you, deep. 

“Fuck!” 

Geralt spears into you again. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, and he mouths at them, pulls your nipple between his lips and sucks. “And you take it so well,” he pants.

You clench around him until he curses. He kisses you with the curse still on his tongue, his fingers digging into your skin. The rhythm he sets is slow and rolling. It drags every girthy inch of his cock along your walls. You grind down against him, circling your hips minutely, desperate for more pressure.

Geralt steadies you on his hips, presses his fingers down into the plush of you. He shifts his grip to the chain looped around your wrists, and pulls you down further onto his thick cock, guides you into the cadence of his hips. A deep thrust pushes the breath from your lungs. You keen, the coil winding tighter, and pull back from his lips. You press your forehead against his, searching for steady ground, and pant against his lips, cycle your breath out and breathe in his. 

“Geralt,” you say, and the drip of his name, the unrelenting syrup of it, earns you a deep, hard shove of his hips. “Fuck, Geralt, please.”

You’re fluttering around him, and there is lightning creeping up your spine, fizzing through your bones. The charms are clinking relentlessly as they rise and fall with your movement, the clear sound muffled by the water as it sloshes around the two of you. 

“Geralt,” you say again, pulling at the chain, frantic to touch him. 

He undoes the chain with a flick of his fingers; your hands fly to him, dance across his slick skin. You pull him close, your breasts soft against his brawny chest, and nip at the junction of his jaw and neck. 

One of Geralt’s hands slides from your hip to where the two of you are joined. He slows just enough to trace a finger over your entrance, stretched wide with him, and then his finger moves up to press slow circles around your clit. Your thighs tremble, squeezing tight around his hips. Geralt strokes at your clit faster, adding pressure each time his hips thrust up into you. You keen his name.

“That’s it,” he pants, pressing a biting kiss against the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Come on my cock like you were meant to, my greedy little magpie.” 

He scrapes his teeth against the column of your neck, rolls a circle over your clit, and you convulse around him. You cry out as you come, as the lightning snaps through you like a summer storm, the heat of it flickering up your spine and through your cunt.

“Fuck,” Geralt rumbles as you clamp down on him, his cock stroking against your tight walls. He slows to a soft roll of his hips. His fingers gentle on your clit, but he does not stop stroking. You pant, tucking your face into his neck. You flick your tongue across the salt of his skin. 

Geralt is pulsing inside of you, his thick cock still dragging against your walls. You clench around him at a particularly deft stroke of his fingers against your clit. It edges on too much, an odd pleasure spiked through with a hint of pain. He groans; his chest rumbles with the sound.

He winds a hand through your hair, tugs you up so that he can kiss you hungrily. Geralt swallows down your whine of his name. His hand is moving between your legs again, slowly applying more pressure on your clit. You squirm. He catches you by the waist, forces you still, pulls you down further on his cock as he starts to thrust again. He moves slowly at first, but you clench around him. He groans, the sound all gravel. His rhythm changes to something harder, something edged with brutal strength. 

“Once more,” Geralt grits. 

“Fuck,” you hiss. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, little magpie.”

He snaps his hips up, burying his cock inside you. His clever fingers circle your clit again, and you can feel his thick cock spreading you apart around him, can feel the swell of him as he draws close to his own orgasm. That lightning spreads again, crackles back to life under his fingertips, glimmers through you like white heat, and the way you cry out when you come almost sounds like a sob. You slump against his chest, utterly spent, sparks still fizzling through you.

Geralt curses as you tighten around him like a vise. His hips stutter against you, and he pushes deep. He moans your name and you can feel the warmth of his cum flooding you as his cock throbs against your walls. 

His breath puffs against your cheek as he gathers you to him. The bathwater sloshes as he pulls you close, smoothing a hand down your still quivering thigh. His cock is still in you, still stretching you wide, but you can feel him softening, know he will soon slip free. 

“You’re a menace,” you tell him, wincing slightly as you shift against him. Your charms chime with the movement; he winds his fingers through the chain once more as he laughs, low and quiet.

He ghosts a kiss against your lips. You chase after him, pull him back to you and kiss him for real, all teeth and tongue. 

“Greedy,” he chides you when you break for breath.

“Always,” you tell him.

He coaxes you off his hips and stands, steadying you when you rise on slightly shaky limbs. You step out of the bath basin. There’s a chemise nearby, draped over the edge of your bed, but you don’t bother.

“You’d best bring more water in for an actual bath, Geralt,” you say. “That one hardly counts.”

He grunts and sweeps you into his arms, corralling you into the bed, one large hand already cupping your breast.

“Later,” he says, pulling you down into the tangle of blankets. “I’m not done with you yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> literally this all started because of [this](https://owillofthewisps.tumblr.com/post/190757557399/hooliganhecate-dilara-findokoglu-spring-2o17) look, which i love. i knew i wanted to write something as soon as i saw it, but also knew i couldn't base a whole tale on it (right now). so naturally, it became smut. and long smut, i guess, because again - i can't ever shut up.
> 
> still polishing off the rust on smut, if i'm honest, so i guess i'll just have to write more.
> 
> will i ever write a non-'greedy' woman character? all sources point to no. give me those who know what they hunger for.
> 
> i wrote half of this while watching John Wick because I'm just...like that. The other half was Kaleida's 'Think' because i do love me a sultry club song.


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